


David Rose vs a Canadian Classic

by houdini74



Series: As Canadian as possible, under the circumstances [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canadian folk songs, Fluff and Humour, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, alternate universe-different first meeting, gratuitous use of Stan Rogers lyrics, idiots to lovers, trolling through song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74
Summary: An unwanted busker ruins David’s carefully curated aesthetic at Rose Apothecary.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: As Canadian as possible, under the circumstances [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145771
Comments: 24
Kudos: 159





	David Rose vs a Canadian Classic

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth fic in my Canadiana series. As the biased author, I would love it if you read the entire series, but these stories are complete as stand-alones and it’s not necessary.
> 
> Stan Rogers is a Canadian folk legend who died much too young. His best known song is probably Barrett’s Privateers which many people think was written in the 1800s instead of the 1970s. At any rate, you’ll never change my head canon that Patrick loves a good Canadian folk classic.
> 
> Rated T for language.

🎵 _Oh, the year was 1778_ 🎵

The voice rings out down the street, assaulting David’s ears before he reaches his store. Is there a music festival that someone has neglected to tell him about? A band of traveling troubadours? Or the worst possibility of all, an open mic night?

As he grows closer, David can see that the auditory invasion is coming from a single man with a guitar, standing directly in front of the doors of Rose Apothecary. Patrick. Ever since the day David had gone to get his business license, the other man has been nothing but a thorn in his side, his cheery smile and tight jeans taunting David every time he turns around. And now, here he is, parked in front of David’s store like some sort of itinerant busker.

🎵 _God damn them all_ 🎵

God damn them indeed. Striding up to Patrick, David comes to a halt in front of him, hands on his hips. “Excuse me? What are you doing in front of my store?”

Patrick takes his time before strumming to a halt, a smirk quirking across his lips, turning his face from pleasant to attractive. “It looks like I’m singing. And playing the guitar.”

“The guitar.” 

“The acoustic guitar, to be precise.” Patrick taps the body of the instrument just in case David can’t see it clearly. The smile that David hates so much stretches across his face, his whiskey-brown eyes are soft and twinkling with amusement. 

He’s losing control of this conversation. “Can’t you do that somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else?” Patrick peers around David at the intersection as if the idea of taking himself, and his guitar, to another location has never occurred to him.

“Somewhere other than in front of my store. My customers don’t like it.” David is expecting a new shipment of body milk, he definitely doesn’t need this today.

“I don’t see any customers.” 

“Exactly. You’re scaring them away.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Besides, I have a permit.”

“A permit?” He’s spent half this conversation repeating what Patrick is saying. “Who gave you a permit?”

Patrick reaches into the overly tight back pocket of his jeans. David tries to not let his eyes linger, but he can’t help himself. “Here.” Patrick unfolds it, David can see the town logo at the top of the page. “It’s signed by a...Moira Rose.”

“Oh, my god.” 

“Is there a problem?” Patrick leans his arms on his guitar and looks at David inquiringly. 

“No. No, of course not.” David grimaces and pushes past Patrick to open the door, turning back once it’s unlocked. “But if you bother my customers, that’s it.”

“Noted.” With a strum of the strings, Patrick plays the first notes of his next song. 

🎵 _You can’t stay here, the company’s good, I know_ 🎵

If only. David shuts the front door to the store firmly behind him, ignoring the music that filters through.

The next morning Patrick is back again. And once again David hears him before he sees him.

🎵 _It's harder to try again than it was to begin_ 🎵

The words are plainly nostalgic, and Patrick sings them like he means them. Or perhaps it’s just a metaphor for this whole situation he’s putting David through. David’s annoyance hardens as he sees the group of people blocking the entrance to his store. 

“Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me.” He pushes his way through, frowning at the money lining Patrick’s open guitar case. Great, now that people are encouraging him, Patrick will never leave. “Don’t you know any good songs?”

“Stan Rogers is a Canadian icon, David.” Patrick smiles at him and David is frustrated to see how it lights up his face as he starts the next song.

🎵 _But I like being free and that makes me an idiot I suppose_ 🎵

“Yes, yes, it does.” David closes the door quickly behind himself, accidentally slamming it in Ronnie’s face, earning a scowl that he’s forced to mitigate with the last of the blue cheese.

It’s just after eleven o’clock when David notices the silence. Is it possible Patrick is gone? He peeks his head out the door but there’s no sign of him or his guitar. Relief mixed with something that might almost be disappointment washes over him. At least the onslaught of Canadian folk music has ended. He heads into the back to turn on his perfectly curated jazz playlist, screeching to a halt when he comes back into the main room to find Patrick leaning on the counter.

“I thought you’d gone.”

Patrick breaks into a smile. It has a disturbing effect on the butterflies in David’s stomach. “Did you miss me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The butterflies have a different answer, but David ignores them. “Why are you here?”

“I brought you a coffee.” Patrick nudges the to-go cup forward as he gestures over his shoulder towards the Cafe.

“Oh. I appreciate the thought, but my coffee order is very specific.”

“I know. I asked them to make it like you usually get it.”

“Well, that’s very nice.” David stares at the cup warily. What are his obligations if he accepts this offering from Patrick? Will accepting the coffee mean he’s given his tacit approval for Patrick to keep playing? Or even worse, is Patrick going to expect him to be nice?

“Relax, David, it’s just a coffee.” Patrick smirks at him knowingly. David hates it. But he takes a sip of the coffee. It’s perfect. 

“Thanks.” Patrick’s right. It’s only coffee, it doesn’t mean anything.

“And I got you a scone.” With a flourish, Patrick produces the paper bag from behind his back. David scowls. Patrick is definitely trolling him. 

“Okay. Don’t you have things to do?”

“You’re right. It’s been half an hour since I harassed your customers. Better get back to it.” Picking up his own cup, Patrick heads to the door.

“How long is this going to go on for, anyway?”

“My permit’s good all summer.” 

“All summer?!” It’s not even the end of June. A week is incorrect, but the entire summer? Unacceptable.

“Guess we’re practically coworkers.”

“I don’t want to be coworkers, though!” The door is already closing behind Patrick, who grins cheekily at him through the glass before picking up his guitar.

🎵 _Now it's gettin' so I'm mad when someone says your name_ 🎵

“You’re not the only one.” David mutters to himself as he finishes the scone. No point in letting Ivan’s perfectly good baking go to waste.

After a couple of days, they fall into a routine. Patrick is always there when David arrives, singing a strummy Canadian folk ballad to his circle of fans. A circle, David is unhappy to notice, that is slowly growing into more of a crowd. Even worse, the crowd frequently disperses into his store, leaving David simultaneously irritated and beholden to Patrick. Every day Patrick plays until just after lunch, stopping at eleven to bring David a coffee and whatever baked good Ivan has made that day. If David wasn’t so annoyed, it would be charming and sweet and David has a sneaking suspicion Patrick is flirting with him. Which he definitely doesn’t want. The butterflies disagree, their wings tickle his stomach.

The next morning, David’s behind the counter, trying to ignore Patrick’s latest effort — some sort of sea shanty, it’s very off-brand for his store — when Stevie pushes her way through the crowd.

🎵 _Rise again, rise again, though your heart it be broken or life about to end_ 🎵

“What’s all this, then?” Stevie gestures to Patrick and the significant crowd surrounding him as he sings.

“He just showed up. And he won’t leave!” Surely Stevie will understand his predicament. “It’s been weeks now!”

“You mean Ray’s business associate has been serenading you for weeks and you’re just letting this happen?”

“He’s not serenading me. If anything, he’s trolling me. He’s very snippy.” David scowls at Patrick. As if the other man can sense him watching, he turns and gives David a wide grin through the glass before launching into his next song. 

🎵 _And even with the thought of you I'm still so hungry. So alone. And so blue_ 🎵

“I don’t know, David, that sounds like a serenade to me.” He should have known that Stevie would be entirely too delighted by this situation, and of absolutely no help whatsoever.

“Okay, that is it.” David tosses down his pen and storms past Stevie, flinging open the door with enough force that Patrick stops playing, his fingers making one final discordant noise on the strings.

Oh god, everyone is here. Roland. Jocelyn. Why does Ray have a video camera? But it’s too late now. “What do you want from me?” David crosses his arms and glares at Patrick, who blinks back at him.

“Can I buy you dinner?” A hush falls over the crowd as they hang on every word.

“It’s ten thirty in the morning.”

“Not right now. Tonight.” A flicker of something that might be nerves flashes across Patrick’s face. Except that Patrick has never seemed nervous about anything. “At the cafe?”

Patrick's voice is pitchy. He’s definitely nervous. For a brief second, David considers saying no as revenge for the weeks of trolling, but his mouth betrays him. “Okay.”

“Shall we say eight o’clock?”

“Fine.” David stares at the dozens of people who are watching the two of them like they’re binging their favorite show. “Okay, that’s enough. Some of us have work to do.” He pushes back inside to find that Stevie has disappeared in the confusion.

What is he doing? He’s just agreed to go on a date with a person who’s been making his life intolerable for weeks. This is a bad idea. He should go back out and tell Patrick he’s made a mistake. Before he can muster the courage, the door opens and Patrick slips inside, guitar case in one hand. He leans it against the counter, an apologetic look on his face.

“Are you here to tell me that you now have a permit to perform inside my store?”

Humour glints in Patrick’s eyes. “No, no. Nothing like that.” Patrick looks down, David can see a blush forming on his cheeks. “I came to apologize, actually.”

“The best apology would be if you just stopped playing.”

“Oh, I’m not sorry about the music.”

“You should be.” David mutters the words, but there’s no heat to them.

“No, I’m sorry for putting you on the spot out there. That wasn’t fair, and I understand if you don’t want to go tonight.” Patrick swallows. “I’d really like it if you did, though.”

This is the excuse he’d wanted mere minutes before. But now that Patrick’s standing in front of him, he can’t go through with it. “I have a question.” Patrick raises a non-existent eyebrow at him. “Why—What is it about this—” David does a full shimmy. “Why are you asking me out? I’ve been nothing but rude since we met.”

“Maybe I like rude.” David narrows his eyes at Patrick skeptically. Patrick raises one shoulder in a half shrug. David’s fingers reach for him before he can curve them into a protective fist. “Do you really want me to list all the reasons I asked you out?”

He does. He really does. “Maybe?” He hedges instead.

Something competitive flares in Patrick’s eyes and he steps closer, leaning into David's space. “You’re challenging. You know what you like and you’re not afraid to say so. You’re funny. Even when you don’t mean to be.” Patrick moves even closer, his lips mere inches from David’s. “You’re kind, you just don’t want anyone to know.” Patrick is so close, David can feel his breath, hot against his lips. “You’re really fucking hot.”

David tries to speak, but a low whine is the best he can manage. It doesn’t matter, any further words are cut off by the press of Patrick’s lips against his, chaste until David licks against his bottom lip and any further thoughts are lost to the feel of Patrick’s body, his hand gripping David’s hip as though he’s afraid David might run away in the middle of the best kiss he’s ever had. David loops his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, needing to bring him closer as he deepens the kiss. Finally, with a soft sigh, Patrick pulls away, David can hear him singing under his breath.

🎵 _And I just want to hold you closer than I've ever held anyone before_ 🎵

“Absolutely not!” David pokes Patrick in the chest. “You said there was no singing inside my store!”

“Is that what I said?”

“Not without a permit!”

**Author's Note:**

> In order, the Stan Rogers songs that Patrick sings at David are:  
> Barrett’s Privateers x2  
> You Can’t Stay Here  
> Second Effort  
> The Idiot  
> California  
> The Mary Ellen Carter  
> So Blue  
> Forty Five Years


End file.
